


Almost Perfect

by perryvic, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Silence Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-18
Updated: 2011-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:57:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/pseuds/perryvic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh you cannot be serious about this," Sherlock protested, but it prickled at his mind. Something different, something interesting and he was all about that. But being gagged? No.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Perfect

Sex with John was a brilliant idea. Well, naturally, it was his idea and Sherlock had to admit he had only a handful of ideas in his life that were merely very good instead of brilliant and this fell in the latter category and it was certainly more interesting than whatever drivel John had been trying to watch on the TV. Pure unadulterated drivel, and it had been his pleasure to point that out to John every ten seconds or so until he could almost see the doctor's patience wind closer and closer to snapping point.

Until they had managed a truly inspired segue into sex, involving some deft manipulation of psychology and John's realization he was never going to see Holby City all the way through anyway.

John on his knees in front of him as he sprawled on the edge of his bed was an arresting sight but really he had to comment because seriously. Technique! Was it really too much to expect?

"Have you not sucked a man's penis before John? No, no of course you have, you know what you are doing, but evidently you are accustomed to some substandard genital organs because really what are you thinking? Wider... and suction. Let me guess, your last homosexual -- sorry, bisexual encounter was with some short squaddie with bad halitosis so you didn't want to go anywhere near his mouth and his cock seemed like a better option..."

He was and wasn't expecting John to pull off of his cock, groaning while he did so. The response was expected, the fire in John's eyes was a pleasant addition that fit part of a logical pattern of activity. "Oh, for the love of god, shut the bloody hell up!"

"Well I have to entertain myself while I'm waiting for you to get into your stride," Sherlock replied frowning a little as he decided he wanted more sucking to occur. "Speaking of which..." He gestured impatiently.

"Right." Right, except John was standing up, moving off of the bed and snagging an item off of the floor. Sherlock knew that before John came back up, and he wasn't surprised that he was holding onto a neck tie. "The only way this is going to work is if you entertain yourself silently."

"Oh you cannot be serious about this," Sherlock protested, but it prickled at his mind. Something different, something interesting and he was all about that. But being gagged? No.

"I can completely be serious about this. If you're going to pull it off, I'll do your wrists and while I'm sure you can get out of them I'll make sure it's a challenge." John looked grim, firm, and yes, that was something Sherlock had liked, that bewildered reaction mixed with sharpness that really did speak to Sherlock of some of the lesser signs of PTSD.

He rather liked the sharpness, which probably made him a horrible person by society's standard, but he hadn't given a fuck about society's standards practically from birth so he wasn't going to be hypocritical about it. "A challenge? Where’s the challenge in being gagged?" he shot back.

"My eardrums won't know what to do without the constant barrage. They might stop working entirely." He knelt on the bed, leaning forward with the tie in hand, clearly intent on putting it around his jaws

"I could just promise to remain silent," Sherlock offered. Now that would be a challenge. Words tended to spill out, trying to keep up with his dizzying swirl of thoughts.

"Do you think you actually can?" John cocked an eyebrow, but looked ready to relent.

"Of course I can. I can do anything." Nothing but the truth and it would be something that might actually require him to concentrate which was a gift in itself. "You want me to sign in blood?"

"No, just... You can start now." He laid the tie down, looking at Sherlock with a wary eye, and then he seemed to accept that Sherlock was going to do as he said.

Silence. Okay, he could do silence. Ah, that was better, warm lips on his cock, much better. How long had it been? Oh, only seconds. How did people managed to go without talking? Maybe John would get him off quickly. Sherlock looked down at him. The bastard, he was going impossibly slowly down there. The urge to tell him to hurry up was difficult to resist and he substituted gesticulating for John to hurry things up.

John shook his head negative also remaining silent. But then he did have his cock in his mouth.

Well, fuck. But maybe it would turn into a nice fuck. They could skip the blowjob entirely as long as he was going to show some technique with his hips because his mouth, well.

He would have to give him lessons. That's what he needed, though the thought of John on his knees in front of an army squaddie, frantic and rough in fear of discovery, was curiously arousing. Proved the hypothesis that John was addicted to adrenalin. He wanted to say something, to point that out so he could see John's eyes do that thing where they denied everything but secretly doubted and questioned.

Later. He could file it away later. John hadn't said anything about not doing a review. A post mission review, a debrief, yes, he could debrief without briefs, and John would probably try to squash his face with a pillow, but --- oh, that was a better turn, the sudden sharp suck to the underside of his dick. Very nice.

The urge to comment, to spill his thoughts on the way his dick throbbed in response was almost overwhelming. He actually had to make an effort to remain quiet. Amazing. Effort was virtually unheard of in his life.

An interesting hypothesis, perhaps John's sexual performance was enhanced by a lack of interruption. Maybe he needed training for a tolerance, however intriguing this was. The thought of training John was very intriguing. He had never known someone give in to him so often and yet also stand up to him without compromise before. At completely random intervals, as well. He supposed that if he brought John's sound tolerance up, slowly of course, in a measured way, he wouldn't need to impart effort on, oh, teeth on his balls were nice, a little sharp, a wet lavishing suck on his sac.

And how was he meant to indicate that he enjoyed that if not be telling him? Silence was silence after all and he wouldn't break his word. Well, technically he would but not to someone worthy of his word. Lestrade didn't count. Or that idiot forensics guy. John did, but he wanted to tell him to do that again, harder. He liked spice and danger, the jolt that came with the unexpected, and this was a little like not being in control. Sherlock considered that on the whole, not being in control was not a preference of his though he would experiment with it. He'd prefer to experiment with John though, which was a happily interesting thought right there. Could he challenge John to silence and then break him? Of course he could, why wouldn't he? He was an observer and right now his eyes were riveted to the way John was swallowing his cock.

Oh now, see, he was just drawing it out now.

Slow and steady, like he didn't want to stick it in something already. He was far past hard enough; there was no question about that, even if the alternating sensations were nice. Kept things a little off balance, almost as much as the motion of John's hands somewhat out of sight. He didn't need to see his hands to see his shoulders, tight motion, something small, delicate. Either he was removing a piercing -- which he didn't have any that Sherlock knew about -- or he was unscrewing something.  
What was he doing? Intriguing. He had to be doing something, manipulating something. Possibly and object or, ha, lube. He must be getting lube ready, and full marks to John for being surprisingly forward thinking. Although he hadn't anticipated that the silence would incorporate having his ass fucked. Sneaky, it wasn't like he could say no without forfeiting. Oh, a delicious thought, a hint of danger. Yes, yes, he did like that and John did have decent stamina. He might actually push his control.

If nothing else, it was going to be an extended session, and he'd be sore the next day, which wasn't without its downsides. Cunning, cunning John, yes, certainly an agile thinker, though not top notch. Still, the skill set was there in a crude way, like the slick thumb pushing into his ass.

Oh, now he had to bite his lip to stop sound getting out. Hard. He wanted to say to John that twisting it like that showed promise, but all he could do was some inspired gesturing with his hands. He was fairly sure that John wasn't apt in the skills of gestural discussion, and that he was probably limited to remembering hand gestures not to make when in Afghanistan. Sherlock certainly wasn't a local to be confused by bizarre British communication techniques. After all, John's thumb was communicating quite well, and his mouth gave a hard suck when he pushed the thumb in all the way.

Oh, and arching was no substitute for groaning. Oh, John was going to suffer for this. He undoubtedly thought he was going to be smug about the whole thing. Well of course he would win, but no doubt he would find a way to repay him. A weak spot, a place to push to enhance the training. John would look good wearing a gag it was true but where was the discipline in that?

Self-control was the key; Sherlock knew that. He just needed to think, and it was stunningly hard to think while he was focusing on keeping quiet and John's intrusion, and...

And. John shifted, kneeling up on the mattress.

Oh fuck, this was hard. John was hard. Everything had a sense of hardness about it and he loved it. Fuck. In another life he might have decided to become some sort of high class prostitute to give himself challenges like this. No doubt he would have been superb, and who cared about personality when someone was a good lay? If John didn't hurry up he was going to explode. Or bite through his lip.

Stretching out between them, highlighted by John's silence that was far from grim. He was smiling after all, just watching Sherlock like he could read what he was thinking with any real finesse, like the twitch of his asshole told him much. Oh as if John was that skilled an observer. On the other hand, he had been teaching him a few things even if he was impossibly slow. But then everyone was. Time for more gesturing, graphic suggestive gesturing. What was he waiting for? A gilt edged invitation to fuck him?

Fingers were nice and all, but he suspected John's cock would feel much better. He got one last twist against his prostate, hard pressure that made his dick bob and sensation bloom in his balls, and then John was opening a condom. Well thank fuck for that, finally some action. John might be slow but he got there in the end. Oh god, god, he was fumbling the condom, how could he be fumbling now when time was of the essence because he couldn’t talk, couldn’t tell him what to do. He leaned up and practically snatched the packet from John, tore it open and then reached to ravel it down over John's cock.

And John sighed, and wore that put upon expression right until he smoothed it down fast over his hard dick, and yes, that kept him shut up. God knew what he was thinking, but it was probably very boring and yes, Sherlock was going to satisfy himself with that when John batted his fingers away and moved in to finally, finally give him the fucking he'd been waiting for.

Pressure, pushing and he had to bite his lip to refrain from noise. It was necessary to win. He wanted to win. It was like a burning need in him, fighting the other burning need to groan and complain and berate John in encouragement.

After all, how else would John ever learn and improve?

Jesus, John's dick felt sturdy just then. Not huge, not monster cock that would encourage John to take up stripping should doctoring ever fail him -- and the way he practiced it, it might very well, yes -- but firm and fat, and god, half of having a dick was knowing how to use it. The slow slide into his ass was definitely using it.

He wanted to growl at him, but he couldn't. He had to just grab hold of John's shoulder and pull him in, use his legs to grip John and literally hurry him up. He wanted more now. He wanted more than that slow ease into his ass, because really, he wasn't a virgin. He was past that, past any worry about ooo, it might hurt, because yes, that stretch and burn had a very visceral release of endorphins associated and he enjoyed it quite a bit. It was very clear cut, physically oriented, which was why it finally felt so bloody good when John pulled back and slammed into him. He could taste blood from where he bit into the side of his mouth to stop from crying out. Silence was golden, precious, brilliant, fucking fantastic if it could raise the sexual act from a mere reproductive function to something deeply textured and interesting. He had to focus on it, anticipate everything to keep the silence, to think and think on it, the way John twisted his hips. That twist really reduced his procreational utility, off to one side, like there was still something wrong with his leg and not his head. But it felt fantastic in Sherlock's ass, much better than in and out and in and out, the rolling of hips gave it a nice grind.

Why wouldn't he just do it harder? His own hands gripped into John's back tight, wanting to draw out the sound from him he had denied himself. There needed to be a sound, there needed to be more than the huff and pant of exhalation because each thrust was shorting out words in his head. The patterns were falling apart because he was trying to be silent and the stimulation was flooding him. It wasn't quite right, it wasn't what he was used to, and John was just going on as he pleased, thrusting however he liked and it wasn't exactly what Sherlock wanted in that very minute, except it still felt very good.

Particularly when John started to stroke his dick.

Oh now, that was... that was… bursts of light, pleasure, arousal, metallic blood taste, the visceral sense of strain of challenge, everything narrowing to a diamond hard brilliant point of unbreakable clarity in the moment that he came hard enough to blot out the teeming worlds that lived in his head.

It came back to him almost immediately. Or, it felt almost immediate, never mind that John had already pulled out of him, and was stretching out on top of him, pressing his mouth in half kisses against Sherlock's neck. "You surprised me."

"You shouldn't be surprised," Sherlock replied feeling unusually languid. "You should know I always win anything I put my mind to." He carded his fingers through John's hair absently.

"Mmmhm, not that I really lost." He seemed content to linger there, just lazing. It had been very. Very satisfying, though there were a few things he would've tweaked. But he could say that about the entire world seen through his eyes. In fact on a relative scale, when he could do things like this, John was... almost perfect.


End file.
